


Goldberg Variations

by zulu



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Multi, for:ijemanja
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-20
Updated: 2009-03-20
Packaged: 2017-10-02 10:08:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zulu/pseuds/zulu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Each time they do this it's a Goldberg game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Goldberg Variations

**Author's Note:**

> For ijemanja, for my [DRABBLERAMA: Road Trip Edition challenge](http://queenzulu.livejournal.com/407891.html). Written at midnight; I'd be glad to hear of any typos or weirdnesses.

**Goldberg Variations**

"He's not playing fair," House says. The thud of his cane on the carpet beats out the rhythm of his whine.

Cuddy shakes her head and sighs before she even looks up. "Your patient is lying to you through bodily fluids?" she asks. It would be nice if her expression of bored dismissal meant anything to House other than _Please, go on, I was hoping to have my day disrupted by your petty complaints_.

"Yeah, because I'd consult you on a subject you know nothing about," House snits. "I'm talking about _Foreman_."

House's digs at her medical skills always get Cuddy where it hurts, no matter what mock-stupid expression he pulls on when he makes them. She folds her hands under her chin and stares up at him, pretending as much ignorance as he credits her with. "Foreman is..." She raises one hand in a futile gesture. "...teaching your fellows for you? Doing your work for you? Failing at stopping you from bothering _me_?"

House looks down at the floor long enough to mutter, "He has a defective libido."

Cuddy raises an eyebrow. "Not if last night is any indication," she says smoothly. Last night was wonderful, in fact. Foreman is apparently willing to indulge in romance as long as House isn't around. There were chocolates, a _very_ good white wine, and a long, hot soak in a tub full of bubbles. Cuddy should be above those cheesy gestures, but Foreman's satisfied smile didn't even waver when she burst out laughing. By the time he'd undressed her--slowly, paying particular attention to massaging her feet as he pulled off her heels--Cuddy's laughter had turned to appreciative moans. In the bath, she lay back against his chest and hummed contentedly while he complained that her hair tickled his chin. "Your fault," she said, and smiled at his low chuckle in her ear. House would have been trying to scoop bubbles into mounds over her breasts and making comments about her squashing his balls when she shifted her weight; Foreman leaned forward to kiss her neck, one hand sliding, slippery, under the water and between her legs.

From the way House's jaw has dropped and he's staring at her as if she just told him General Hospital has been cancelled, he's gained the power of telepathy and caught most of that. "I can't believe you didn't invite me!" He glances around at the empty office to make sure they're alone, then stage-whispers loudly, "We haven't had sex in two _weeks_."

"We had sex on Wednesday, House."

House's pout only deepens. "Foreman wasn't there."

"Foreman was keeping your patient alive." Cuddy stands up, circles her desk, and walks up to him; House's confidence tends to crumble the closer she gets. She rests her palm on his chest and leans in, not letting her gaze waver for a second. "As I recall, you were grateful for the opportunity."

For a second, Cuddy sees exactly the effect she'd hoped for--House's mouth opening slightly, his eyes turning serious, but then he shakes his head and steps away. "Don't try distracting me with your devil wiles."

"You love my wiles," Cuddy says dryly. And then, since he will never, ever leave her to her work until she asks: "What did you want, House?"

"Duh, you have to seduce Foreman. And let me watch."

Cuddy snorts quietly. "The best way I know how to seduce Foreman is to promise _you_ won't be there." But House's pout always was more convincing than it should be, and Cuddy rolls her eyes. "Tonight," she promises. "_If_ there aren't any complaints from the clinic this afternoon."

"Yes _ma'am_," House says, and jaunts out of her office in a way that can only mean trouble.

*

Foreman wonders how many people are really fooled by the three of them. The new fellows know better than to bat an eye when Cuddy comes to Diagnostics, hands him a file, and says, "I hope you'll be available later, Dr. Foreman." Foreman nods, paging through a file for a non-existent patient, and Cuddy slips out again. Still, Taub shakes his head and sighs, Thirteen rolls her eyes, and Kutner's smirking into his bowl of Alphabits. Foreman eyes them. Yeah, really, nobody's fooled. House gave the game away, not by being loud and obnoxious, but simply by not badgering Foreman to death with questions every time he makes plans with Cuddy. The fact that House already knows every detail of those plans makes his nosiness a waste of time, but it's pretty damn obvious when he chooses _not_ to sink his fangs into his employees' personal lives and suck every ounce of privacy out of them.

Still, it's gratifying to show up at Cuddy's front door with a bottle of wine, knowing that he's here at her invitation; that she wants him. "Two nights in a row?" he asks, bending to kiss her, but not getting distracted from the important question. "What's House up to?"

Cuddy shakes her head. "Don't ask." She takes the wine and pours them both a glass, while Foreman hangs up his suit jacket, tugging his tie off and tucking it into a pocket. He watches her as she walks away, satisfaction and anticipation filling him. They enjoy each other. It's peaceful. Foreman only imagines that House will show up within minutes to batter the door down and throw himself between them, protesting and criticizing and demanding _won't somebody think of the white man?_ But even House can't be bothered to track them down _all_ the time, and the times when he doesn't more than make up for the times when he does.

And, of course, Foreman's right. The sound of House's motorcycle engine accelerating up the street and pulling into Cuddy's driveway is followed a moment later by the slam of the front door. "You better not have started yet," he calls, stumping into the living room. "_Wine_? I'm not letting Foreman fuck me unless I'm drunker than _that_."

Foreman tilts his head at Cuddy, giving her a disappointed look. "You invited him."

"I said he could _watch_," Cuddy says.

"Oh, come _on_," House says. "Are you really going to make me jerk off when you could be torturing me so much more creatively?"

"Yes," Foreman says, a straight-faced lie that usually leaves House narrowing his eyes suspiciously as he tries to see if he's serious. Foreman sets his wine glass down and wraps his arms around Cuddy, raising a skeptical eyebrow one last time before he kisses her. There's nothing House hates more than being ignored, which is a big part of why Foreman enjoys pretending he doesn't exist. Cuddy is willing, her fingers unbuttoning his dress shirt as he unzips her skirt, his hands curving around her thighs and pulling her close.

"Two against one is completely unfair," House says, but he doesn't try to get between them. He heads for the bedroom instead, looking over his shoulder like he expects them to follow simply because they've lost their audience. Cuddy pulls back from the kiss and Foreman smiles at her.

"I know we shouldn't indulge him," she starts, a curl falling across her forehead as she sighs.

Foreman brushes her hair back from her face. They each, in their own way, make a career of indulging House; it's hardly a surprise that it happens in their personal life, too. "It's fine," he says, and leans in to kiss her again, drawing it out, drawing his fingertips along Cuddy's skin underneath her blouse, distracting her.

After all, it's no fun fucking House unless Foreman can piss him off first.

*

When Foreman and Cuddy _finally_ make it to the bedroom, House is down to his shorts and his last nerve. They're both looking flushed--on Cuddy it's obvious; a gorgeous, glowing smile, and a devilish glint in her eye. On Foreman, House has learned to read the signs in the exact degree of smugness in the tilt of his head, not to mention the bulge in the front of his pants. "Cripples get no respect," House says, crossing his arms and glaring at both of them.

"No, _you_ get no respect," Foreman says, but since he follows that remark by dropping trou (and underwear; his shirt seems to have been left behind in the living room along with Cuddy's skirt and bra), House only snorts and pretends even harder to be pissed off.

"Oh, please," Cuddy says, climbing on the bed, and causing House's eyes to nearly fall out of his head as she crawls towards him. "_I_ get no respect."

House smirks at Foreman's pout--he can nearly read _but I brought you chocolate_ on his lips--and then he's distracted, kissing Cuddy while Foreman strips his boxers off. His arousal soars, _especially_ once hands get into the act. Foreman's are large and broad; Cuddy's are light and teasing; and both of them are--as they should--trying to drive him insane. Until they start to drive each other insane. And, in the end, that's all right, because House can let his eyes drift half shut, between kisses, and watch, Foreman's hands cup Cuddy's breasts, and Cuddy's hands drift down to House's penis and start to stroke. House takes Foreman's erection and slides it through his fist. In cases like _this_, two against one is very, _very_ fair. House pants and twitches up into the touches, until all three of them are a little bit lost.

Each time they do this it's a Goldberg game. Cuddy likes taking them both, one after the other. Sometimes House goes down on her first, and leaves the fucking to Foreman while he watches, resting his leg if not his right hand. House likes it when Foreman fucks him, too, but not if Cuddy distracts him with her mouth first. Foreman won't admit he wants House to fuck him, but he'll turn pliant and surprisingly loud once Cuddy slips a finger inside him.

Different pieces that shouldn't fit together at all, but House set them up and set them loose. Even better than the sex is when he gets to watch them jump the jumps and speed through the loop-the-loops. People and physics aren't really that different.

It's incredibly good, to be the guy who knows the outcome.

House isn't going to say that this was all his idea, or entirely his plan (he's lost out on more than one orgasm for doing that). But he will, once they're piled together, sweaty and satiated, grin to himself in complete satisfaction. Foreman falls asleep practically the moment he comes, and Cuddy curls around him. The two of them leave House exactly what he wants. Time to watch them. Time to figure them out.

Time to set up the next variation, calculating it exactly, so that in the end, completely unpredictably, House always lands right here.

 

_end_


End file.
